V is for Vagaries
by 3rdgal
Summary: Written for the Summer 2007 Alphabet Fic Challenge.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer:** I don't own the characters and I don't make any money off of them.

**A/N:** Thanks as always to ritt, the world's best beta and sounding board! This should be somewhere around 4 or 5 parts.

"Alley is clear."

"Roger," Don called out over his radio as he motioned for Megan to follow him. He led her into the narrow passageway in the abandoned portion of the warehouse district. Though he trusted David's abilities as a field agent, Don knew the suspect they were after was a bear of a man and kept his gun at the ready just in case there were any surprises in store for them. He cautiously scanned the recesses and doorways in front of him as he led Megan deeper into the darkened area.

A slight crunching sound to his left made him freeze in his tracks and he cocked his head, indicating he wanted her to listen closely. After a beat, Megan nodded and raised her weapon, ready to go on his command. Don held up his left hand, three fingers raised in a silent countdown. Before he had even gotten to two, a shadow from their right side broke free from the building, grabbed him around the waist and propelled him into the side of the brick warehouse. Don gasped for air as he felt himself crushed against the hard, unforgiving surface of the wall, mentally cursing as his vision grayed around the edges.

"FBI! Freeze!"

The bone crushing pressure was gone and despite his best efforts to remain on his feet, Don slipped down the wall and came to rest on his knees. He managed a deep breath and looked up to find Megan and the suspect had both disappeared. "Report," he wheezed into his radio. "Reeves!"

"Easy, Don."

David's voice so close it nearly startled Don out of his skin. Whipping his head to the side, he was relieved to find his agent looking down at him with a calm expression on his face.

"Megan?" Don panted, wondering if he would ever catch his breath again.

"She's fine. Had to chase our guy out of the alley, but you should have seen the flying tackle once she caught up to him."

"You're kidding?"

"Nope," David answered with a proud smile. "It was… beautiful."

Don grinned, once again reminded of what an exceptional team he was blessed to have. "Help me up."

"You sure you're ready to get on your feet? You look pretty shaken up." David had to scramble to keep Don from falling down as he ignored his question and stood. "Where'd he hit you?"

"My pride," Don sighed.

"Seriously."

"Seriously?" Don asked as he quirked an eyebrow. "Okay, _seriously_… I thought you said the alley was clear."

"I didn't know we were chasing Spiderman's twin."

"Say what?"

David gestured to a fire escape. "He was hanging right there from what Megan said."

"You didn't check the fire escape?"

"I did," the agent assured his boss. "But he was hanging upside down."

"As big as he is? That doesn't seem possible." Don shook his head as David started to speak. "No, I'm sorry. I know you know what you're doing. He just really caught me off guard."

"I think I know the answer to this already, but-"

"I don't need an ambulance, a medic, or a hospital," Don finished for him. He winced as he reached up to unfasten the straps of his vest. "Just a nice soak in a hot tub and an ice-cold beer."

"Good to see you're keeping up-to-date with the latest medical treatments," David remarked dryly.

Don's eyes twinkled as he removed the constrictive vest. "Just for that you're doing the paperwork for this one."

"Agreed, as long as you head home and call it a night."

"Ah, I didn't know you cared, _Mom_."

David rolled his eyes as he took Don's vest and headed back to his own vehicle. Over his shoulder, he called "Good night, Don. See you tomorrow."

The older agent gave him a wave and headed for his SUV. He rubbed at his sore chest and nervously peeked down his shirt to see how bad the bruising was. Much to his surprise there was only a slight redness present. He shrugged mentally. _Guess I got lucky this time._

As he reached his vehicle, Don paused and studied his windshield which was covered in purple dots. A smile tugged at his face as he recognized the jacaranda flowers. His mother had always loved the jacaranda trees that lined the streets of Pasadena, especially when they were in full bloom. He remembered one day, not too long before his sixteenth birthday, when they had been leaving the house to go to his baseball practice. Charlie had been with them of course and she had decided to tell them a story about the beautiful, elegant trees.

"_Do you know the legend about the jacaranda tree?" she asked in an excited voice as she gestured to the purple flowers that covered the windshield._

"_No," Charlie replied eagerly. "Tell us!"_

_Don sighed and looked at his watch, worried that he would be late for practice._

"_It's said that if a jacaranda flower lands on your head," she paused for dramatic effect until even Don gave her a questioning look. "That you will pass all of your tests."_

"_Really?" Charlie inquired doubtfully, his interest having dwindled as the scientific part of his mind took over._

"_It's summer, Mom," Don laughed. "What tests are you talking about?"_

"_Life is full of tests, every day." She gave Don a pointed look. "And… I believe someone turns sixteen next week. You __did__ want to pass your driver's exam, didn't you?"_

_Don looked at his lap and fought back the flush of embarrassment he felt creeping up his face. He almost cheered when he heard Charlie pipe up from the back seat. "No offense, Mom, but I don't see how a flower landing on someone's head can have any direct correlation for passing an exam."_

_Margaret sighed, perhaps realizing her boys were no longer children, and shrugged. "I always thought it was an inspirational legend." She cranked the ignition and turned on the wipers, sweeping away the purple flowers as quickly as her sons had swept her words aside. "Sometimes the truth isn't in the details of the story, boys. Sometimes it's in the heart of the person telling it."_

Don shook his head as he brushed the flowers off of his windshield. He'd been too young and self-absorbed to realize it at the time, but looking back, he realized how hurtful his and Charlie's responses had been. _I'm sorry, Mom. We were both too young and stupid to understand what you were saying._ He suddenly felt his mother's loss more strongly than he had since the days after she had died and longed for the comfort and closeness of his family. Without giving it any more thought, Don climbed inside his SUV and drove to his brother's house.

--

Alan hummed to himself as he wandered around the ground floor of his home, dusting this, straightening that… all of those things that his homeowner son seemed to be too busy to do. He'd long since made and eaten his dinner, a simple task since his youngest was out late with some of his colleagues. Alan grinned to himself and contemplated how thoughtful it was of him to leave the entire sink of dishes for Charlie to deal with when he got home. _Really,_ he remarked to himself. _It's just a matter of payback for all of those years growing up._

There was nothing on TV, all of his friends were out of town and he'd finished his last Sudoku book the night before. He'd read the evening paper while he ate and, in all honesty, Alan was incredibly bored. He'd finally decided that a quick, cursory cleaning of the downstairs area would be a good time-killer, not to mention wear him out a little before he went to bed. He'd pretty much completed his rounds when he found himself standing beside the family piano. Alan grew wistful as he remembered the countless hours his wife had spent on the bench, happily teaching her sons to follow in her footsteps. He'd always assumed Charlie would be the one who took to it but, much to his surprise, Don had been the most eager. That was until he reached the late teenage years when piano playing was no longer 'cool' in comparison to things like baseball, cars, girls and college.

Margaret had tried teaching Charlie for a little longer but all the young genius had wanted was to follow his big brother's every example. Alan had been certain part of his wife's heart had broken then because he rarely ever saw her seated at the piano from that day forward. It hadn't been until many years later that he'd found out she had secretly kept in touch with her musical side by composing her own music. In a tribute to Margaret, Alan had decided to display her favorite family photograph of the four of them at the beach right on top of the piano. He glanced up to the spot where he kept the picture, freezing when he saw that it was missing. He was certain it had been there earlier. Stepping closer, Alan knelt down and looked along the floor, sighing when he saw the frame wedged between the piano and the wall. He let out a loud groan as he contorted himself until he felt the metal and glass beneath his fingers. As he tugged it loose, he heard the front door close followed by the sound of his oldest son's voice.

"Hello?"

"By the piano, Donny," he answered, holding the photograph in front of him and carefully studying it for any signs of damage.

"You okay?"

Alan smiled at the concern in his son's voice and quickly nodded. "This fell off the piano."

"That's the picture Mom loved so much, isn't it?"

"Yeah." Satisfied there was no damage to the glass, Alan held out a hand. "Help your father up."

Don did as told, smoothly slipping the photograph from his father's hand into his. He laughed as he took in his cocky grin and Charlie's distracted frown. "I can practically see your hair turning gray in this picture. We didn't make things easy for you back then."

"Back then?" Alan countered as he took the picture from his son and placed it on the piano. "Now isn't exactly a picnic, either."

"Dad…"

Alan clapped him on the shoulder and shook his head. "Hush, Donny. I know it's who you both are and I couldn't be prouder. Neither could your mother."

"How can you be so sure?"

Alan hesitated, not sure he wanted to tell his son that Margaret came to see him in his dreams some nights. Goodness only knew where that conversation would lead. "Because I know her and how much she loved you boys." He turned away from the piano and affectionately squeezed his son's elbow. "What brings you here tonight? Hungry?"

Don grinned. "It's not always about food, Dad."

"Of course it's not. But I'll be more than happy to whip something up for you."

"I'm not really hungry, thanks. We wrapped up a long, difficult case today and I really didn't want to drive back to my apartment."

"I'm glad you came by. Charlie ditched me tonight to go paint the town with his work colleagues."

"Do math professors even know _how_ to paint the town?"

"As long as it's organized. Kind of like… paint-by-number."

Don groaned and rolled his eyes. "That was… _awful_."

"You only say that because you're tired," Alan playfully insisted. "Why don't you go grab a shower and hit the sack? I'll wake you in time for breakfast in the morning."

"I'd appreciate that," Don said thankfully. "Good night."

"Sleep tight," his father replied, watching as his son wearily climbed the stairs to his bedroom. _Better make sure I can live up to the breakfast offer,_ Alan thought to himself as he headed to the kitchen to do a quick inventory. His conscience got the best of him and he spent some extra time washing and drying all of the dirty dishes in the sink. As he was finishing up, Alan heard a familiar car pull into the driveway. A minute later he heard the front door close and went to greet his youngest son.

"Don's here?" Charlie asked by way of greeting.

"Upstairs sleeping."

"That's good. I barely managed to get in a 'hello' when I stopped by his office this week. I think this last case was pretty tough."

"They all seem to be lately." Alan sighed. "I know he's good at what he does and loves his job, but it hurts to see him stretched so thin. I have to convince him to take an actual, honest-to-God vacation."

"That's a four letter word to Don." Charlie cocked his head and walked over to the piano. "Although he did love our beach trips when we were kids."

Alan watched his son pick up something from the floor, audibly gasping when he recognized the object.

"You okay, Dad?"

"Yeah," he replied with a baffled expression on his face. "It's just… I picked that picture up off the floor not an hour ago."

"Oh?" Charlie inquired. "You didn't see the crack then?"

"What crack?" Alan demanded as he pulled the picture from his son's grasp. The glass had a fracture running from the top right corner above Margaret's head all the way to the bottom left corner over Don's favorite jersey. "That wasn't there earlier."

Charlie shrugged. "Must have happened when it fell off the second time."

"No, I was very careful when I set it back up there."

"Could have been a draft from the front door or the swinging door to the kitchen. Heck, we _do_ live in southern California – it could have been a tremor."

"Maybe." Alan nodded, although he was very doubtful. He set the picture on the dining table and suspiciously eyed it, as if he expected it to fly off of that surface, too. "I'll replace the glass and find somewhere more stable to put it tomorrow."

"Sounds like a plan." Charlie glanced at his watch and stifled a yawn. "I think I'm going to follow Don off to la-la land. Since he's home, I assume breakfast will be served tomorrow morning?"

"Of course. Should I give you a wake-up knock, too?"

Charlie nodded and patted his father's shoulder. "That'd be great, thanks. Good night."

"'Night, son." Alan gave the photograph one last look and tried to shake the odd feeling that was forming in the back of his mind. Somehow, although he couldn't explain it, he knew it wasn't a draft or mini-quake that had knocked that picture off the piano. A nervous shiver raced down his spine as he turned off the lights and headed up to bed, hoping his uneasy feeling would go away once he'd gotten some rest.

--

Don had tossed and turned in his bed, resisting the urge to look at the alarm clock and see how much sleep he wasn't getting. He'd heard Charlie come up the stairs quite a while ago and, had he not been feeling so tired, he would have poked his head into the hall and said hello. As it was Don wasn't sure he'd have the strength required to make it to the bathroom if the need arose. _Best not to dwell on that thought._

His father had come up the stairs not too long after Charlie and Don had smiled as he heard the older man's footsteps pause outside his door, no doubt listening to see if he was resting peacefully. Not wanting to worry him, Don had managed to stop his restless movements until Alan had resumed walking down the hallway.

Now that his family was safely tucked away in their beds, he allowed himself to earnestly search for a comfortable position. His chest was still a little sore but he had checked it again before climbing into bed, seeing only the faint redness and no signs of any darker bruising. His stomach wasn't thrilled with him for having eaten so little – and poorly – throughout the duration of his last case, and he was starting to regret having turned down his father's offer of food. He was perfectly capable of cooking for himself but not with such bone-deep exhaustion squeezing every last ounce of energy from his body.

_If I can just fall asleep, Dad's wonderful breakfast will be waiting for me in the morning,_ he reminded himself. _Heck, I used to sleep in compact cars that reeked of two-day-old takeout with a partner who snored like a chainsaw. Surely I can manage in a soft, clean bed in my childhood home._ An annoying tickle along his hairline distracted him from his thoughts and he reached up to scratch it, frowning as his fingers came away damp. He ran his hand through his hair and discovered it was slightly sweaty.

_Odd,_ he puzzled as he pulled his blanket up higher. _I'm actually feeling a little bit chilly._ He bit back a groan and prayed he wasn't coming down with 'flu or anything else that would mean a few days stuck in bed at the mercy of his family's hovering tendencies.

_Sleep,_ he ordered himself, pushing all other thoughts from his mind. _Get up and eat in the morning and then get out of here before Dad or Charlie notice you look a little 'off'._ Satisfied that was the best course of action, Don forced himself to relax and eventually managed to slip into a less-than-peaceful slumber.

TBC


	2. Chapter 2

It was storming on the beach. Lightning slashed through the electrified air and thunder crashed over the sounds of the angry ocean waves. Alan stood alone on the shore, fully exposed to the elements but somehow remaining completely dry. His eyes scanned the surf, looking for any signs of his family. They had to be there with him – they always went on the beach trips as a family, up until the day Don and Charlie went off to college and then he and Margaret had never gone back.

But where were they now? Why had they come during such nasty weather?

"I'm here," Margaret's voice whispered in his ear.

He looked to his side and smiled at his beautiful wife. "I was worried."

"I know," she said simply.

Alan frowned and studied her face. "Where are our boys?"

She gestured behind them to where their car was parked on the asphalt. In the dim dome light of the car, Alan could just make out a head full of curls bent over a notebook.

"He's with his numbers," she whispered softly.

"Safe," he nodded.

A flash of lightning streaked across the sky and Alan jumped at the malicious-sounding thunder that followed. "Donny?" he asked, his heart going cold in his chest.

Margaret shook her head, her expression one of deep sorrow, as she pointed out into the surf. There, barely visible during the numerous flashes of lightning, Alan could see his oldest son struggling against the waves. He disappeared beneath the violently churning water time and time again as he lost the battle to stay above the surface. "No!" Alan exclaimed as he started to race toward the water's edge, stopping when some unseen force prevented him from going in after Don. A hand, soft but strong, landed on his arm and Alan turned to see his wife regarding him with a strange look.

"You can't go after him."

"He's drowning!"

"He has to come to you."

"How can he, Maggie? Look at the water!"

She smiled, an eerily serene look on her face. "Don has always been the strong one in the family."

Alan tried to shake her hand off, disturbed by her attitude. "Even the strongest people need help."

"He has to learn that, my love."

"I can show him," he insisted, glancing back at his dying son.

"No. He has to learn this on his own. He has to be the one to ask for help." She cupped her husband's cheek and kissed him tenderly on the forehead. "It's how he'll survive in the world."

Alan's eyes snapped open and he panted for air as he stared at the ceiling overhead. The memory of the dream slammed into him, once again robbing him of his breath. He sat upright, desperately fumbling for the bedside lamp in the hope that the light would chase away the darkness of his nightmare. Blinking rapidly, Alan felt his heart rate return to normal as he surveyed his bedroom.

"Margaret," he whispered into the silence. He'd had many dreams in which his wife had come to him, but they had always been pleasant affairs and he'd woken peacefully the next morning, surrounded by feelings of love and comfort. _This dream, though…_ Alan shook his head and stood up, his feet carrying him to the hallway before he was fully aware of what he was doing. A few seconds later he found himself standing outside Don's closed door, about to push it open and check on his sleeping son.

_Wait a minute,_ he snapped at himself. _You open that door and wake up Donny and he asks you why you're in there and you... what? Tell him Margaret came to you in your dreams… __again__? Seemingly with a message that he was near-death or would be very soon? Grand idea, there. Next thing you know he'll have you carted off for a psych evaluation._

_What if something is wrong? I just stand here and do nothing?_ Alan sighed and rubbed a hand over his face. _Arguing with myself… Maybe a psych evaluation isn't a bad idea._

"Dad?"

His head shot up to find Charlie standing in the doorway to his room with a puzzled look on his face. "Hey, Charlie," he said awkwardly.

The younger man studied him with a disturbing intensity. "Is Don okay?"

"Why wouldn't he be?" Alan's eyes narrowed. "And why do you ask?"

"You're standing outside his door at three in the morning," Charlie pointed out. He hesitated a minute, a look of concern crossing his face. "Are _you_ okay?"

_Had a bad dream._ "I had to go to the bathroom."

"Bathroom's the other way," he observed, gesturing down the hallway.

"Why, thank you, son," Alan said sarcastically. "I must be getting senile."

"Are you sure Don's okay?"

Alan's breath hitched in his chest. "You… you had a dream?" The look of shock on his youngest son's face did nothing to ease his sudden unease. "You did," he whispered.

Charlie remained silent as he hurried to his father's side. Together the two men pushed open the door to Don's room, neither one of them bothering to knock, and rushed to the bed. "Don," Alan called softly as he reached out and touched his oldest son's shoulder. His heart began beating again when the sleeping man's eyes fluttered open. "Thank God," Alan sighed as he looked upwards.

"Dad." Charlie's fear-laced voice snapped his attention back to the bed and he realized Don was staring at him with a look of absolute panic etched into his features.

"Donny?" Alan pleaded, perching on the side of the bed and cradling his son's head in his hands. Don's lips moved wordlessly as he fought to drag air into his lungs. His painful, wheezing rasps were deafeningly loud in the small room and spurred Alan into action. "Go call for an ambulance, Charlie!"

As the younger man fled the room in search of a phone, Alan took a calming breath and smiled confidently down at Don. "It's okay, son. Help will be here soon. You just keep breathing for me, okay?" He studied his son's body, turned toward him, his arms stretched toward the doorway as if he'd been reaching out for help long before his family had finally arrived. Alan gathered the pillows into a heap against the headboard and tenderly shifted his son until he was propped up against them, hoping it would ease his struggle to breathe. Don's eyes remained locked onto his father's face the entire time and Alan made sure to keep himself calm and confident, hoping his son would be able to draw from his strength.

"They're on their way," Charlie announced as he bolted back to the bed, wrapping a hand around his brother's.

At the young man's touch, Alan witnessed a slight decrease in Don's panic and nodded in encouragement. "Charlie and I have got you, Donny. You're doing good. I know it's hard but just keep breathing for us."

"He squeezed my hand," Charlie announced with obvious relief in his voice.

Alan smiled at his youngest son before returning his gaze to Don's exhausted form. He took in the pale face and the way the dark hair was plastered to his son's head. He casually slipped a hand around Don's wrist, giving him a compassionate squeeze before silently counting his pulse. It was definitely too fast and alarmingly weak. Alan eased the sheet down, patting Don's shoulder in silent apology when he shivered in the night air. He studied Don's torso, looking for any signs of bleeding and frowned at the large, dark bruise marring the right side of his chest. That's when he noticed something even more alarming.

"Dad?" Charlie called out in fright, apparently noting the same thing. "His chest… it isn't…"

Alan could only nod as he watched Don's chest. The left side rose and fell with each gasp Don managed but the right side looked as if it were almost paralyzed, growing stiffer with each breath. He wasn't a doctor but even he knew that Don was in serious trouble – which was why he nearly jumped for joy as sirens sounded in the distance. "Go wait for them downstairs, Charlie. Get them up here as quickly as possible!"

As his youngest son raced from the room, Alan cradled Don's head and gently pressed his lips to his cool, clammy forehead. "I love you, Donny," he whispered, fighting back tears of despair as he tightened his fingers in his son's hair and clung to him for dear life.

--

"What was your dream about?"

Charlie glanced up at his father, slumped in the chair next to him in the waiting room. "What?"

"You had a dream – what was it about?"

_Oh boy,_ Charlie thought to himself. _I really, __really__ don't want to go there._

"Please," his father whispered when he saw Charlie's hesitance. "I need to know."

He nodded and let out a deep breath. "I was trying to solve an equation and I was getting frustrated because I kept getting the same answer and I knew it couldn't be right." Charlie crossed his arms over his chest and stared at the floor.

"Oh?" Alan prodded.

"No matter how I looked at it or how many variables I used, I got the same results." Charlie's voice dropped to a whisper. "Delta, zero and n."

"Don."

The mathematician nodded. "But… the answer _felt_ wrong. Like I was missing something very important. Then…" He trailed off as vivid memories of the dream played in his mind. He and his mother were sitting in their family car and she was quietly watching him as he wrote in his notebook, barely noticing the raging storm outside.

"Go on," his father said, dragging his thoughts back to the present.

"Mom was there. I mean – she just appeared out of the blue. So I asked her what I was doing wrong and she hugged me close… said sometimes the answers don't make sense, but that we have to trust that they're correct anyway." Charlie gave his father a shy look. "I can't explain it but when I woke up, I sensed Don was in trouble. When I saw you were already there…"

"Yeah," Alan managed around the lump in his throat. "I know what you mean."

Charlie impulsively leaned against his father and laid his head on his shoulder. "He'll be okay… right?"

Alan looped an arm around the younger man and held him close, determined to be in contact with at least one of his boys. "He better be. Otherwise he'll have to answer to us."

Charlie nodded against his father's shoulder and watched as nurses and other nervous families milled around the waiting room. He tried not to look at the clock and count down the seconds since Don had been taken away from them… tried not to think about how horrific and lopsided Don's chest had looked as he'd ineffectually gasped for air… tried not to think about the look of sheer terror he'd seen on his strong, capable, big brother's face… tried not to imagine what it would be like to have to plan out a funeral for Don…

"Charlie?" he heard Alan's worried voice in his ear. "What's wrong? You're shaking."

_I'm scared,_ he thought, but Charlie was determined to be strong for his father. "A little cold. Why do they keep hospitals so cold anyway? Don't they know there's sick people here?" It was a pathetically weak attempt at levity but his father let out a soft chuckle, making Charlie love him even more.

"They could make a killing if they charged for those heated blankets."

"Have you seen the insurance bills? They _do_ charge for them – a lot."

Alan smiled down at his son and tightened his embrace. "Good point."

"Dad…"

"Yes, son?"

"What was _your_ dream about?"

The older man sucked in a breath and Charlie quickly sat up, afraid he'd somehow hurt his father. "What is it?"

"I just… I can't… not now. I'm sorry."

"It's okay, Dad," Charlie assured him. "I was just trying for conversation."

"Eppes family?" a nurse called as she came through the emergency room doors.

"That's us," Charlie informed her as he and Alan stood up. "How is he?"

"He's been moved to a room," she informed them with a polite smile. "His doctor would like to see you for a moment before I take you to him."

"How is he?" Charlie repeated impatiently.

"The doctor will go over his condition with you. Please follow me."

Charlie wanted to grab her and pin her against the wall – force her to give him a straight answer – but his father's hand on his arm calmed him down. He meekly followed behind Alan as the nurse led them down the hallway and into a plush office where she gestured to a surprisingly young-looking man behind the desk.

"Doctor Grant," she introduced him. "This is the family of Don Eppes." She then left the three men alone in the room.

"Nice to meet you," he greeted without standing up. "Please, have a seat."

The two Eppes obeyed, both leaning forward in their chairs as they waited for the physician to speak.

"Don has a hemothorax, brought on by a slow-leaking artery that bled into his pleural space. I suspect it was initially caused by some sort of chest trauma, blunt force maybe. Do either of you know if that's a possibility?"

"He's an FBI agent," Alan offered, trying to interpret what the doctor had just diagnosed his son with. "A hemothorax?"

"Yes."

Charlie ground his teeth, instantly disliking his brother's physician. "In English, maybe?"

Grant forced a smile but his impatient sigh was quite clear. "Of course. Basically I believe Don received a blow to his chest at some point, probably earlier today. The trauma damaged a small artery in his chest, resulting in a slow leak that allowed blood to gather in the space around Don's lungs. This imbalance in pressure hampered his lung's ability to function so that his breathing became increasingly impaired. Are you with me so far?" When both men nodded, he continued on. "In the OR I was able to isolate the bleeder and repair the damage. I inserted a chest tube to drain the blood and relieve the pressure around Don's lung so that it can re-inflate. Once it does and his breathing is back to normal, he'll be able to go home and finish his recovery."

"How long?" Alan asked.

"Depends on him," Grant said with a shrug. "Most patients average a few days. If you can have him cough and do some deep-breathing exercises he may be able to speed up his recovery."

"We will," Alan promised.

"Now, there _is_ one slight concern I have about your son. He hasn't woken up from surgery yet."

"What?" Charlie asked in disbelief. "You call that a '_slight_ concern'?"

"Yes, I do. In his weakened state I wouldn't be surprised if it takes longer for the anesthesia to wear off. His body has been through a lot of trauma. I suspect he'll be fine in a few hours but, in the meantime, we'll be keeping him in ICU until we're sure he's stabilized and responding well to treatment. Then we'll move him up to a regular room." Grant checked his watch and frowned. "Any questions?"

Alan nodded. "Can we see him now?"

"The nurse will take you to him." Grant gestured to the door and watched as the two men left, sighing when Charlie paused in the doorway. "Yes?"

"Will you be following up with Don's treatment?"

"No," the physician informed him. "He'll have a respiratory specialist from here on out."

"Good," Charlie replied with venom in his voice. "Thank you so much for your time." Ignoring the look of disappointment his father gave him, Charlie brushed past him and nodded his head for the nurse to take them to Don's room.

--

Alan could barely contain a sob as he studied his son's still form. He didn't realize his knees were giving out until he felt Charlie pushing a chair beneath him. He smiled thankfully as he settled into the uncomfortable chair and leaned forward to get a closer look at Don. There was hardly an inch of his oldest son's body that wasn't covered by wires or tubes. A nasal cannula snaked across his face, monitor leads sprouted from various positions on his torso and his left index finger was weighted down with a pulse oximeter. Alan started to reach for his right hand, to hold him and let him know his family was near, but stopped as he saw the IV inserted in the back of Don's hand.

"Donny," Alan whispered in anguish. He had the sudden urge to place his hand over Don's heart, needing to feel the persistent beating that announced his son wasn't dead, but hesitated again as he caught sight of the chest tube. The nurse had been very adamant that they must not disturb the clear tubing and, since he and Charlie would be keeping vigil, to make sure Don didn't roll over onto it or tug it so that the hose became kinked or dislodged.

Alan finally decided that it was too risky to touch anything from the waist up, and settled for placing his hand just above Don's knee. "We're here, Donny."

"And we're not leaving, bro," Charlie said as he mirrored his father's actions on Don's other leg. "So how about you wake up and say hello? It's the least you can do for scaring the living daylights out of us." He lowered his voice and lightly rested his head on Don's thigh. "Come on, bro. Let me see those brown eyes all the girls rave about."

Alan smiled and leaned back in his chair. It felt good – normal – to hear Charlie teasing his brother. "We'll wait as long as it takes, Donny. Just…" Alan winced as his voice cracked with emotion. "Don't make us wait too long, okay?"

TBC


	3. Chapter 3

Don lay on his back, staring up at the underside of his old VW van. He had a wrench in his grease-stained hands and realized he was in the garage, tinkering on the vehicle that had been his pride and joy during his junior and senior year of high school. He could hear the faint sounds of chalk scraping on a blackboard and figured his brother was slaving away on some math problem that would probably earn him yet another full scholarship offer from some prestigious university. Feeling a little guilty about the jealousy stirring in his gut, Don wiped his brow and concentrated on the van.

Another sound – an ominous hissing noise – drew his attention to his left. He was alarmed to discover his front tire was leaking, the tire pressure decreasing and lowering the van closer to the ground. Realizing he would be crushed if he didn't act fast, Don planted his feet on the floor and tried to push himself out from under the heavy vehicle. His shoe hit a slick spot and the resulting motion twisted him to the side just as the van came into contact with his chest. He fought back a grunt of pain as he angled his head around to see if Charlie or his dad had heard what happened. Charlie still had his back to him as he wrote on the chalkboard but Alan was standing a few feet away, staring at him intently. Don frowned, wondering why his father wasn't trying to help him.

"He doesn't know you need help."

Don craned his head away from his father, almost crying out as the pressure on his chest increased. "Mom?" he panted.

"Right here, sweetheart," Margaret crooned as she stroked his cheek.

Don leaned into her touch as he clenched his eyes shut against the pain. "…Hurts."

"I know, baby."

"Dad isn't… helping."

"Donny, listen to me carefully."

He kept his eyes closed but nodded at his mother's request.

"Remember the first time you were changing the oil on this van? Remember your father came out to help you?"

"Yeah," he gasped.

"You got mad at him and told him you didn't need his help."

"Had… friends over." The van sank lower making Don fear each breath might be his last.

"He didn't know they were coming. All he knew was that you were doing something he could help you with and he wanted to be there for you."

"…Mean."

"No, you were young. He understood why you said what you did, but that was also the day when he – _we_ – realized you were already your own man. Your father doesn't know when his help would be welcome. There's only one way he _can_ know."

Don dragged his eyes open and fixed his mother with a pleading gaze. "Hurts… bad."

"They're here for you, sweetheart. All you have to do is ask."

He reluctantly turned away from his mother and sought out his dad's worried gaze. "Dad…" He swallowed against the pain and managed two more syllables. "Char…lie."

And then they were there, both of them, grabbing his hands and trying to pull him out from under the van that was crushing the life out of him. It was still hard to breathe but something about their nearness made him a little less afraid.

"We're here," Charlie promised.

"We're not leaving, Donny." _Strange – Dad's voice doesn't normally sound so shaky._

And with every last bit of air he had, he managed one final word before darkness rose to claim him. "Help."

--

Charlie didn't know how long he'd been sleeping with his head on the bed by Don's knee, but decided it couldn't have been too long because he didn't feel rested at all, which made him wonder. _Why did I wake up?_

He slowly lifted his head and rubbed at his sore neck. _Okay, maybe I __have__ been sleeping for a while._

Before he could glance at his watch, a soft murmur caught his attention. He looked at his father, frowning when he realized the older man was dozing in his chair. _Maybe I imagined it,_ he thought, shaking his head to clear the cobwebs of sleep.

"…lie."

He snapped his head around and studied his brother's face, myriad emotions coursing through him when he saw the lines of concentration on Don's too-pale features. Then he noticed his brother's lips moving – although no sound was coming out.

"Don!" Charlie cried in excitement as he scrambled closer to the head of the bed. He placed his hand on his brother's cheek, being careful not to disturb the tubing. "Don, can you hear me? Can you open your eyes?"

"Charlie?" he heard his dad's worried voice.

"He said something," Charlie informed him. "I think he was trying to say my name."

"That's wonderful!" Alan cried joyfully as he joined Charlie and rested a hand on top of Don's dark hair. "Donny?"

"Help."

The one faint word instantly destroyed any relief or happiness the two men had been feeling.

"Don?" Charlie asked with concern. "What's wrong, bro?"

The man on the bed merely rasped a breath and went still. Charlie was certain he had died until he realized the heart monitor was still beeping a strong, stable rhythm. He looked over to his father and raised an eyebrow. "What do you suppose that was about? I mean… Don _never_ asks for help."

Alan shrugged helplessly. "I don't know, Charlie, but it can't be good."

"Should I call the nurse?"

The older man studied Don as he carded his fingers through his short hair, sighing when his son didn't respond to the touch. Don's unresponsiveness had been bugging him all along but now that Alan knew his son had been close to waking up only to slip away once more, his concern skyrocketed. "Yes, Charlie, why don't you do that?"

Charlie pressed the button and both men impatiently waited until Don's nurse appeared in the doorway. "How can I help you?" she asked in a pleasant manner.

"Yes," Alan nodded to her, stalling as he peered at her name tag. "Jane, I think my son is in some discomfort."

She stepped to the bedside and eyed the monitor above the bed before shaking her head. "His readings are normal, Mister Eppes. No elevated heart beat or respiration – no signs of pain."

"He asked for help," Charlie told her.

Jane gave him a skeptical look. "He woke up?"

"He spoke," Alan corrected her. "I don't know if he was really awake but you have to understand – Don _never_ asks for help."

"He was probably dreaming," she explained.

"No!" Charlie said loudly, his vehemence surprising even his father. "I am so _sick_ of everyone brushing this off! Don's doctor could barely be bothered to sit down with us and all you nurses do is go on your assigned rounds, making it clear that you have no desire to deviate from them no matter _what_ might be happening to your patients. Whatever happened to trusting the family to know the patient, huh? You read all these studies about how having us talk to him, even when he's unconscious, is good for his recovery, yet when we express a concern we're told 'he's probably dreaming'?"

"Mister-"

"It's _Professor_ Eppes," he cut her off. "As in I am a well-educated and well-read individual. Now would you take a closer look at him?" Charlie noticed his father was still staring at him in disbelief and he mustered a semi-apologetic expression. "_Please_ – make sure my brother is really okay."

"Alright," Jane said, somewhat reluctantly. "I'll need a few minutes to check his bandages and such. Would you both step please outside?" Seeing Charlie was about to argue further, she smiled reassuringly. "For sterility purposes only. With the chest tube I have to make sure there's no chance for contamination."

"Okay," the professor agreed, complacently following his father from the room. Once outside, he shook his head and studied the floor. "Sorry, Dad, but I just got so-" Charlie's words were cut off as his father wrapped his arms around him and crushed him to his body. "Uh… Dad?"

"Donny would be so proud of you," Alan whispered in his ear. "Standing up like that… standing up for him… You did good, Charlie. Very good."

"Thank you," he softly replied, drawing comfort from his father's embrace. "I hope somewhere deep down wherever he is, Don heard it too."

They stayed in the hall, holding onto one another as they both prayed their loved one would soon make a full recovery. A few minutes later, Jane exited the room and lightly brushed Charlie's upper arm. "You're his brother?"

"Don's? Yes."

"He's lucky to have someone like you looking out for him."

Charlie was pleased with the comment until it occurred to him that it meant something must be wrong with Don. "What…?"

"It's nothing major," Jane assured him with a confident smile. "His chest tube had a slight leak in the seal so his lung wasn't re-inflating as fast as it should."

"Is that why he hasn't woken up yet?" Alan inquired.

"It could be a contributing factor," Jane admitted. "I've called for a doctor to come evaluate and, if necessary, reinsert the chest tube. I hate to ask but can you both wait in the lounge area at the end of the hallway? I'll come get you as soon as we have Don fixed up."

"Okay," Charlie nodded. Before she could disappear again he stopped her. "Jane?"

"Yes?"

"Thank you for listening. You have no idea how much that means to me and my father."

"I'm just sorry I didn't do it sooner," she apologized just before she ducked back into Don's room.

"Come on," Alan said to his youngest son as he hooked his arm through Charlie's. "We might as well go make ourselves comfortable."

--

He could breathe again. Not deeply and it definitely wasn't an enjoyable task, but Don could actually take breaths without fearing each one would be his last. He wearily dragged his eyes open and blinked the room around him into focus. _Hospital,_ he thought glumly. _Go figure._

"Hey, sweetheart."

Don rolled his head to the side and gave his mother a tired smile.

"You're feeling better."

It didn't sound like a question, but Don thought it was only polite to answer one's deceased mother. "Yes."

"See? Your father and Charlie came to you when you called." She brushed a hand through his hair and he relished the love and warmth in the touch. "They always will, you know. Just like you would for them."

He nodded and leaned into her hand, hoping he could trap it against his pillow and keep her by his side forever.

Clucking her tongue softly at the attempt, Margaret gently removed her hand and gestured to the sleeping forms of his brother and father. "Promise me you'll ask for their help whenever you need it, Donny."

"…'Kay."

"I mean it, young man," Margaret said, fixing him with a stern but caring look. "And don't wait until it gets so bad."

"Didn't know… time."

"This time, yes – but there have been plenty of others that you have put off. It's not healthy for you _or_ them."

"Promise," he lazily whispered. After taking a few breaths – _I'll never take that for granted again_ – he grinned. "Know… you did."

"What did I do?" Margaret inquired innocently, save for the twinkle in her eye.

"Jacarandas… truck."

"Guilty," she admitted. "I wanted to let you know that you would make it through this okay."

Don frowned and gave her a hurt look. "Why at all?"

"Oh, sweetheart," she crooned, her hand once again running through his hair. "I never like to see you hurt but sometimes God has plans for us and, while we may not understand them at the time, things always happen for a reason. Chalk this up as a learning experience about relying on others for help."

"Hard lesson."

"Those are usually the best." Margaret bent down and lightly kissed him on the forehead. "Tell your father and brother I love them."

"Don't go," he pleaded, hating the way he sounded like a little boy.

"I have to, Donny." She wiped a tear from his cheek and placed a second kiss on top of his hair. "I'll be back whenever you need me, though. I promise, sweetheart."

Don nodded bravely as his mother's image faded away, leaving him in the company of his father's and brother's soft snores.

--

Charlie picked at Don's blanket, smoothing out wrinkles and removing the little balls of fuzz that had accumulated over several washings. He was bored and – despite the doctor's assurances that his brother was well on his way to recovery – scared witless that Don would never wake up. His father seemed to be in agreement with the physician, having finally left the room for an hour to stretch his legs and check out what the cafeteria had to offer. Even when he was at Don's bedside, Alan was no longer watching him like a hawk. Instead he would read the paper or work a crossword puzzle, not even looking up as he reached out to soothe any restless movement Don made. When Charlie had finally questioned him about his almost indifferent attitude, Alan had simply said, "A watched pot never boils."

He had refrained from responding, not wanting to start a cliché war with his father. Now, alone in the hospital room with his big brother, Charlie found himself avoiding Don's face just in case his father had been right. Much to his delight, he heard a soft sigh from the head of the bed and looked up to find his brother's eyes partly open in the dim light of the room. "Don?" he called out eagerly as he moved to lean over the bed.

Don didn't speak but did groggily blink at him, a small smile creeping onto his face as he recognized his brother.

"You're actually going to wake up for me, huh?" Charlie grinned.

"Least… do," Don rasped painfully.

The younger man nodded and rested a hand on his arm. "I'll say. You scared me and Dad half to death!"

Don frowned. "Didn't know… tire flat."

Charlie gave him a bewildered look and tried to remember if the doctor had mentioned the possibility of brain damage. "Tire?"

"Van. Thanks… pulling me out."

Charlie surreptitiously reached for the call button and pressed it, hoping a nurse would be able to come in and sort it all out. _Maybe it's the drugs,_ he thought. _Please let it be the drugs talking._

"Mom… loves you… Dad."

Charlie sucked in a breath as it hit him how close to death Don must have been to think he'd seen their mother. "That's… that's good," he stammered. Seeing his brother's eyelids growing heavy, he lightly shook the forearm beneath his hand. "Stay awake for me, bro. Dad'll be hopping mad if you're out cold again when he gets back."

Don managed a hoarse laugh and a weak nod. "Remember jack… jacker…" He looked hopefully at his brother but Charlie could only shrug. "Purple?"

The professor eyed his brother's IV bag, wondering just how much of what might be in there. "Purple?" he repeated, more to keep Don talking than anything else.

The injured man sighed in frustration which set off a small bout of coughing. When he was finally finished, Don sagged against his pillows, his chest heaving for air, while Charlie blotted sweat off his forehead. "I didn't mean to upset you, Don. I'm so sorry."

"Not… worry." The agent glanced down and winced as he noticed the chest tube for the first time. "Bad, huh?"

Tracking his gaze, Charlie nodded. "It was for a while. Dad and I…" He trailed off with a shrug. "Just don't do it again."

"Wasn't bad," Don told him. "Little red… sore." He gave his brother an insistent look. "Promise."

"I believe you, bro. Still, let us know next time even if you don't think it's serious. If we hadn't had those dreams…" He paused, wondering if he should continue when Don was so out of it.

"Jack…" Don scowled, whatever he was trying to say apparently too much for him in his current state.

"Easy, bro. You can tell me all about it later." Charlie looked up to the doorway as the nurse entered the room. "He's awake!" It was stating the obvious, he knew, but he was so excited he didn't care.

She humored him with a huge smile. "So I see. Do you mind stepping outside for a minute so I can evaluate our patient?"

"Sure." He looked down at Don and grinned. "Be good for her and maybe she'll give you a lollipop when she's done."

"Funny," Don groaned, failing to suppress a grin.

Charlie was about to leave when he noticed something on the pillow next to his brother's head. Thinking it was a scrap of paper, he picked it up and stepped out into the hallway to let the nurse complete her job. He leaned against the wall and studied the object in his hand more closely. It wasn't paper – far too soft and velvety for that. And it was… He sucked in a breath and glanced back toward the room. _Purple? Jack…?_

Looking back at the object in his hand, Charlie wondered how in the world a jacaranda flower had gotten on Don's pillow.

TBC


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N:** I apologize for the incredibly short length of this chapter. This week hasn't been a good one for me but I think things are finally settling down. Only one more part after this one and V will be finished. Thanks for your patience and wonderful reviews!

When Don woke again, there had been a changing of the guard. "Dad," he rasped to the shadowy figure in the chair next to his bed.

"Donny," his father answered, delight evident in his voice. "How do you feel?"

"Not bad." Don blinked as the room was flooded with light. "Until someone tried to blind me."

The light faded a bit, still brighter than before but at a tolerable level. "Sorry about that. Better?"

He nodded and blinked his eyes until his father's worried face came into focus. "Sorry for putting you through all this. I should have gone home like I originally intended."

"Really?" Alan asked in a voice as hard as steel. "And where do you suppose you'd be right now if you had done that?"

Don swallowed and licked at his dry lips as he realized he'd just opened up a big can of worms. "Could I get some water?" he asked in an attempt to throw his father off track. The plastic straw appeared in front of him and he lifted up slightly until it slid between his parted lips. Don drank deeply, partly to delay the inevitable conversation but also because he hadn't realized just how thirsty he actually was until the cool water slid down his throat. He nodded that he was through and nervously watched Alan placed the mug back onto the tray table as he sagged back against his pillow.

"So, Donny… you were saying?"

_Crap._ "I'm really glad you and Charlie were there for me?"

"Uh huh." Alan leaned forward and straightened the plastic tubing that disappeared below the edge of the bed. "Try to be careful when you shift. We have to keep the tube untangled."

Don's eyes widened a bit as he saw a red-tinted fluid draining from his chest. "Eww," he said as his brow wrinkled in disgust. "Do I want to know what that is?"

"You had a hemothorax," Alan informed him. "Hemo as in blood. You bled into the cavity around your lungs. Apparently almost bleeding to death wasn't enough for you. No, you had to see if you could seize your lungs too."

"Dad?" he asked, shocked at his father's sudden, angry tone.

"Don't 'dad' me, Donny. Do you know how it felt to hold you while you struggled for breath? My God, I was certain you were going to die right there in my arms."

"I'm sorry." Don knew it was a lame response but he really couldn't think of anything else to offer. "Really sorry." _Yeah, that one extra word will make all the difference in the world._

Alan took a deep breath and composed himself. "I don't mean to take my anger out on you. It's just… one of these days your Superman complex is going to get you in trouble and Charlie and I won't be there to…" Alan's voice cracked and he shook his head.

"Grab my cape?" _Oh, nice one. That'll smooth Dad's feathers out in no time._ He was surprised when the older man let out a soft laugh.

"Something like that." Alan reached out and rested his hand on top of Don's head, smiling when his son didn't make his usual protest. _Yeah, Dad. I owe you that much._ "Promise me you'll come to us when you need help, Donny. No more going it alone. Please?"

Memories of his mother's words rang in his ears and he found himself unexpectedly tearing up. Closing his eyes to keep the traitorous moisture where it belonged, Don managed a faint nod. "I promise." Then his 'I am a rock' mentality kicked in, demanding that he defend himself on this particular instance. "I did check, Dad. Right after it happened and there was nothing. No bruises, no sharp pains, no trouble breathing… nothing. Just a general soreness, no worse than when I used to play a double header." Convinced he had successfully banished his tears, Don let his eyes drift open and fixed his father with a pleading look. "I really thought I was okay."

Alan studied him for a moment before giving a warm smile. "I believe you, Donny."

Whether he truly did or didn't, Don wasn't sure, but seeing the love in his father's expression was all he needed to understand that the matter was settled between them. "Thanks, Dad." A yawn burst forth from him and Alan chuckled at his sleepy expression. "You told them to up the drug dosage so I'd be too tired to get out of bed," he weakly accused.

"Me? Never. Although now that you've given me the idea…"

"Ha…" Another yawn. "Ha."

"Get some rest, Donny."

Don let his eyelids droop shut and lifted his left hand and wiggled his fingers, smiling when he felt his father's warm grip envelop his wrist. "G'night, Dad."

"It's mid-day," his father chuckled, but Don was already fast asleep.

--

Charlie stared intently at his brother, wincing sympathetically with each cough ripped from Don's lungs. There were quite a lot of them since that was the whole point of the exercise.

"Good job," he heard his father croon as he watched Alan lower Don back against his pillows. He gently wiped the sweat from his son's brow and offered him a sip of water which Don gratefully accepted. "How are you feeling?"

"Sick of… coughing."

Alan nodded sympathetically as he pulled the blanket up, taking a moment to smooth back Don's hair. "I know, but it's good for your recovery. I know you're sick of being in the hospital."

"Got that… right."

Charlie, feeling a little awkward and helpless as he stood in the corner, tried to cheer his brother up. "Remember, the doctor said if the your lung function improves to a satisfactory level and the drainage slows down, you can get out of here as soon as tomorrow evening."

"It's… on my calendar," Don assured him, his breath still labored but gradually returning to normal. "Still don't believe… wouldn't clamp off the tube for me."

"You two are something else," Alan chuckled, shaking his head as he made sure the aforementioned tube hadn't been kinked during the coughing exercise. "Drainage has slowed down a lot, Donny. And you recover quicker after your coughing sessions. I think tomorrow is looking pretty good."

Don grinned ear-to-ear. "Ah, freedom."

"Yes," Alan agreed, his voice slightly stern. "You'll be free to laze around in your bedroom upstairs while you get the bed rest you need to fully recover."

Don frowned and rolled his eyes. "You going to chain me to the bed?"

"If that's what it takes," Alan said sweetly.

"Hey, Buddy," Don called to his brother. "Hide my handcuffs for me, would you?"

"I think Dad already has them ready."

"Some brother you are," the man in the bed groused. "Can't even look out for your big brother."

"Hello?" The three men looked up to find Megan standing in the doorway, three 'Get Well' balloons in one hand and a small gift bag in the other. "Everybody decent in here?"

"Come on in," Alan greeted her with a hug.

She peered over his shoulder at her boss, who was eagerly eyeing the bag in her hand. "I get presents? You smuggled in coffee?"

"No, it's better than that," Megan replied with a twinkle in her eye. She tied the balloons to the back of a chair and stood by the bedside. "You're looking pretty good."

Don shrugged. "It wasn't all that bad, really." He blushed slightly at the loud, pointed coughs from his father and brother. "Okay, maybe it was close for little while there."

Megan nodded as she slid up a chair and took a seat. "David feels like an absolute heel."

"Tell him not to. He said the guy was hanging upside down like Spiderman or something." Don waggled his eyebrows and cocked his head. "He also mentioned something about a flying tackle? I sure wish I had seen that."

"It's overrated. Although… the guys at the office are doing what I say now, without question."

"As well they should." Don impatiently pointed at the bag. "Do I have to wait until my birthday or something?"

Megan grinned and held up a hand. "This is from me," she told him. "And maybe David… if you like it. He wasn't so sure but I told him you'd appreciate it." She handed over the bag and laughed as Don dug into it, frowning when he revealed the object that had been tucked inside.

"This is so wrong," he growled, although he couldn't quite suppress a smile. "I mean… just plain _wrong_."

Megan patted his shoulder and winked at Charlie and Alan. "Think of it as a memento of the case." Then in a more serious tone, she added, "A reminder that you survived to fight another day."

Don nodded appreciatively and covered her hand with his. "I will. I'd say thanks but…" He shook his head and studied the plush Spiderman doll in his hand. "Let's just say there might be some revenge later on."

"I look forward to the challenge. Now if you'll excuse me, some of us don't have the luxury of lying around all day." She squeezed Don's hand and gave Alan and Charlie a quick hug on the way out of the room.

Once the three men were alone, Charlie pointed to the stuffed toy and grinned. "At least you'll have someone to keep you company while you're stuck in the bed."

He barely had time to duck as the Spiderman doll flew toward his head.

TBC


	5. Chapter 5

"Dad is going to skin you alive."

Don heard Charlie's words but made no move to get off of the bench on which he was comfortably resting. He rolled his head to the side and studied his brother through his sunglasses as he flashed a huge smile. "Not if you don't rat me out."

The young professor pointedly looked from the bench to the back door several feet away. "By my calculations you aren't going to make it back so easy. I'm not sure how you managed to get out here in the first place."

Don shrugged and returned to his previous position, with his head leaned back as he let the sun's warmth bathe his face. "Where there's a will there's a way." He heard Charlie's muffled footsteps as he walked across the lush grass and settled beside him on the bench. "You might get charged with aiding and abetting."

"Nah," the younger man disagreed. "More like failing to report a crime." Charlie's shoulder lightly pressed against his and he heard his brother sigh. "You could have asked for my help."

"Aiding and abetting," the agent reminded him.

"I'm not kidding, Don. I thought you were going to take your well-being more serious from now on. Or did I imagine the whole near-death hospital stay?"

Don sighed and reminded himself he had known this conversation would eventually take place. "I am taking my health seriously, not that I didn't before."

Charlie snorted.

"I honestly didn't think anything was wrong. Besides, the doctor said it was a slow leak. Probably wouldn't have shown up even if I had gotten myself checked out right after the incident."

"That _incident_…" Charlie said the word with hatred in his voice, "…nearly cost you your life."

Unwilling to lose the comfort of the sun's rays on his face, Don blindly reached out until his hand until it bumped against Charlie's knee. "It's what I do, Buddy. There's always going to be dangers." Hearing Charlie's deep breath in preparation to argue, he lightly squeezed the knee beneath his hand. "But I am going to play it a little more safe from now on."

Another snort. "Why don't I believe that?"

Don grinned, not surprised Charlie had called his bluff. "Okay, maybe not in the field but I will be more inclined to have myself examined after any sort of physical incident." Don lifted his hand and let it hover in the air. "Deal?"

Charlie gripped the proffered hand and firmly shook it. "Best I can hope for, I suppose."

The two men lapsed into silence, each one enjoying the warmth of the day as they lost themselves in their thoughts. A slight breeze blew across the yard, surprising both men when a single flower landed on the small section of bench between them. Don lifted his head and glanced down, somehow not surprised when he recognized the familiar purple shape.

"Weird."

"How's that?" he asked Charlie.

"In the hospital when you first woke up, you kept trying to say jacaranda."

Don's eyes widened behind the tinted lenses. "I did?" Now that Charlie had brought it up, a faint memory danced on the periphery of his mind.

"Yeah. And then… when I was leaving… I found a jacaranda flower on your pillow." Charlie looked up at his brother when Don started chuckling. "What?"

"Mom never was very subtle."

"Mom? What do you mean?" Charlie remembered their heated discussion about the possibility of supernatural occurrences from a year ago and frowned. "You don't honestly think..."

"That you're busted?"

The brothers looked up to find a very displeased Alan Eppes standing on the back stoop.

"Hi, Dad," Charlie said with a nervous smile. "You're home early."

"Uh huh." Alan shook his head and crossed the yard until he was standing in front of the two culprits. "Donny, you know you're supposed to be resting."

"Does this look strenuous?" Don challenged.

Their father rolled his eyes and shrugged. "I give up." Then he noticed the flower. "Jacaranda," he whispered with a smile. "Your mother's favorite."

"Don seems to think it's a sign from her."

"Oh?" Alan inquired.

The agent nodded, suddenly embarrassed and unsure of himself.

"Go on, Donny."

"After the-"

"Please don't say _incident_," Charlie begged.

"After the pursuit and capture of our suspect?" Don offered, waiting until Charlie nodded. "I was going back to my truck and the windshield was covered in purple flowers. It reminded me of the time Mom told us the legend of the jacaranda tree. Remember, Charlie?"

The young man nodded sheepishly. "I think I kind of blew her off."

"We both did," Don agreed. "Anyway, I got to thinking about how much I missed her and I decided I would come by here and visit."

Alan interrupted his story. "Otherwise you would have gone home to your apartment?"

"Yeah."

"So…" His father's voice cracked and he quickly squeezed in on the end of the bench. "You would have been alone when it happened…"

Don nodded, not trusting his voice right then.

"Don," Charlie breathed as he pressed closer to his brother, once again needing to feel that he was alive and well. "But still… you don't think… I mean, you _really_ think Mom's ghost…? That's just… illogical."

Both Don and Alan watched with amused expressions as Charlie tried to find concrete evidence that nothing supernatural had taken place.

"How did a flower get on my pillow at the hospital?" Don queried. "You think you can explain that?"

Charlie clamped his mouth shut and refused to make eye contact.

"Your dream, Charlie," Alan spoke quietly. "What about that?"

"I… maybe I heard some sound of distress from Don's room and my subconscious incorporated it into my dream."

Alan studied his youngest son for a minute before speaking again. "I had a dream, too. We were on the beach and it was storming." He hesitated as he saw Charlie's eyes narrow. "Your mother appeared to me and said you were safe – in the car working in one of your notebooks." Alan reached out and grabbed the young man's shoulder, concern growing as Charlie's face drained of all color. "What's wrong?"

Don sat up straighter and draped an arm around his brother's shoulders. "Buddy?"

Charlie shook his head as he tried to speak. "My dream… it was… the car… the notebook…" He swallowed deeply and met his father's gaze. "It was storming and we were at the beach."

"The dream you were telling me about in the hospital? You were in the car? I assumed you were in the garage."

Don looked back and forth between his two family members. "Would you please explain what's going on?"

Alan patted Charlie on the shoulder and proceeded to tell Don all about the dreams that they had both had. When he was finished, both he and Don studied Charlie.

"You still think the 'Mom's ghost' idea is illogical?" Don asked with a big smile on his face.

"It's not probable," Charlie countered.

"You didn't say 'impossible'," Don triumphantly pointed out.

"Nothing is impossible," the professor snapped, his nerves shot as his world of science and reason crumbled around him. He suddenly realized that whether or not their mother's ghost had had a hand in the events of the past few days, Don had survived and that was all that mattered. A grin tugged at the corners of his mouth. "Except maybe you sometimes."

"Me?" Don asked innocently. "Impossible? Never."

Alan laughed, pleased that his family was whole and healthy again. He quickly put on a stern expression and pointed accusingly at his sons. "Since you are already out here, why don't you stay put for a while? I'll make us some dinner and then…" he pointedly looked at Don,"…we'll see how easily you can get yourself back inside the house."

"Piece of cake," Don assured him, though he subtly tugged on Charlie's sleeve as if to make sure the younger man would be willing to help him if needed.

"Ooh, how about cake for dessert?" Charlie asked excitedly.

Alan rose from the bench and shook his head. "Maybe. If you're both good." Glancing down at the two men, he laughed. "Oh wait, you've already blown that." He happily turned around and left his sons behind, grinning as heard their playful griping about which one of them had endangered their chances of having dessert.

Once inside, Alan went to fetch his apron from where he'd left it draped across his dining chair a few days ago, before he'd been put through the emotional wringer. As he grabbed it, another object lying on the table caught his eye – _Margaret's favorite picture,_ he thought as he remembered the glass still needed to be replaced. Alan picked it up to move it to the table by the front door so he wouldn't forget to take it with him the next time he ran errands. He barely contained a gasp as he saw the front of the picture.

Where there had once been a crack streaking across both Margaret and Don, there was now nothing but smooth, intact glass. Alan looked up toward the back yard and wondered if Charlie would have had the presence of mind – or time – to fix it in the few short days since Don had been home from the hospital. Deciding that idea was, to quote Charlie, 'not probable', Alan chalked it up to the next best possibility.

"Thanks, Margaret," he whispered as he placed the picture on the piano. "We love you, too."

The End


End file.
